


Sunset

by Gozufucker



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/strange fake
Genre: Contemplation, Death, Gen, Headcanon based somewhat, Just a sorta writing piece, Regrets, Short, i dunno, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozufucker/pseuds/Gozufucker
Summary: One sunset, she talked to the old man.





	Sunset

The evening bell tolled across the village.

The mountain leading to the monastery of the Old Men was populated with these villages, containing ordinary villagers protected by the assassins of the order. Had been for centuries, and would surely be for many more, if the powers high above were gracious. And here she sat herself, overlooking said village. She watched everyone down there with her highly trained eyes, and she could even hear some of the nearer ones as if she was sitting right next to them. Even as the bell had tolled, they refused to head inside just yet. Denial was the nature of man.

"Lord Hassan-i-Sabbah has not returned yet?"

A stoic, cold voice spoke next to her. She did not turn her head to stare, pale features simply staring at the sun. Her silence was enough of an answer for the voice to continue speaking. He was almost relaxing to listen to.

"I see. Then, have you made a decision? You have time."

She did have time. She had enough time to break her faith and make plans most heinous for the head of lord Hundred Faces, one whom had been chosen instead of her. She admitted to it in her mind, and perhaps that was enough to the gentleman standing next to her. But she also had enough time to decide that such plans were, just as she had thought, heinous. Unholy. Something she should not even entertain... Yet she had, for a brief period. Fanaticism that had been boiled in a pot into a toxic lump of jealousy.

She was but a woman. No, not but a woman: but a human. That was natural of humans. Jealousy, making horrible plans and then abandoning them after a moment of recollection and realization. But she was not supposed to be just a human.

Old Men were not human. Lord Cursed Arm had not. Nor had Lord Serenity. They had all been the concept of Assassin brought to a brink where they killed and killed and killed until they themselves were killed for straying from the path of righteous death. They were human as well in the end, but the time period before that: they were something better. Something close to God, perhaps.

"I have. A decision that will not change anything: I will not make a move. I have erred, as humans do... And that is my greatest shame as a zealot."

The old man lifted something from the ground, perhaps his cane. She did not know, and she knew not to look. Disrespect was not something she dabbled in, even when she was curious. 

"I see. In the end, despite never becoming Hassan-i-Sabbah, you fall into the same vice each of them has, up to eighteen times now. Perhaps nineteen, in Hundred Face's future."

The old man had turned and begun to walk away. The evening bell rung once more, this time for everyone else instead of just for the assassin without a name, the zealot who had mastered 18 techniques, only to embrace none as an Old Man. And so the first Old Man spoke spoke as he disappeared into the shrine of Azrael.

"Despite never becoming one... You shall fall like one. The assassin with no name, or perhaps, the Hassan of No Name. Thee refuse to kill: thus thee must die as a Hassan would. That is thee dearest wish, is it not?"

Tears of joy slid down her cheeks as her head graciously fell off of her shoulders and onto the dusty hill, slowly rolling down it. The assassin with no name was embraced by death, as brought by an angel.


End file.
